“No, I suppose not,” said Rivers, who, for some reason or other, did not seem inclined to treat this story very seriously. “No, I suppose not, unless she aggravated me beyond endurance. Then there is no knowing what I might not say.”
“Oh, yes, I quite understand, if she was a nagging woman—but poor Phœbe—I know her so well—is incapable of anything of the sort. She is too gentle ever to make a fuss—and too dignified, besides. She behaved simply like an angel all through—a perfect martyr—she hardly said a word, but——”
“But what?”
“She did the only thing that was left her to do. She left him.”
“I call that rather a strong measure!”
“Oh, but alone! She did not leave him to go to another man!”
Here the narrator of Phœbe Elles’ fortunes stopped and hesitated, a little overcome by a reflection that necessarily occurred to her. Presently she resumed. “Tell me, do you disapprove of poor Phœbe?”
“I can hardly form an opinion, can I, without knowing the rights and wrongs of the case. But as a general thing—Was he unfaithful to her?”
“No indeed, she only wishes he were!” Mrs. Elles broke out, in an uncontrollable burst of candour. “Now, I’ve shocked you,” she said, looking up into his face and bitterly repenting her flippant outspokenness.
She went on, nervously, “You think she ought to have stuck to her post—ought not to have thrown up her cards like that.”